Shattered Glass

by Dani Alexander

  At which point Dave came to spy on me. Although it was good to know he wasn’t the worst of the worst, I was ashamed to admit I might have stood by my best friend even if he’d been more involved. I had my limits, but did they stop at cover-ups? Which made me consider something more relevant to my future. Could I ever be a good cop after this?

  52:14

  Fifty-two hours, fourteen minutes. That was how long it took for the doctors to move Peter from ICU to his own room. Of those hours, I spent less than thirty minutes alone with him. Alone meaning Zhavra and Darryl were either asleep, home or down in the cafeteria.

  We spoke very little. Peter was tired, and the times where he stayed awake for extended periods, I gave to his mother. In return she gave me dirty looks and informed me I would not be “dragging her son with me to hell.”

  I responded in my typical mature and professional manner. “Surely not for just the one blow job. I don’t even think I was that good. It’s because I swallowed, isn’t it?”

  She spat something in Russian at me. It only made me flash her every tooth in my head.

  “Austin,” Peter warned. I winced, refusing to turn around to look at him until Zhavra brushed by me with her arms open.

  “Petya, you are awake.” She kissed his forehead. I’d seen him do that exact same thing to Cai. The memory made my heart contract.

  “I’ll go hang out in the waiting room.” I worried that Peter was listening to her about going to hell. Was he rethinking the last two weeks now that things had settled? Was I? And what did it say about my current mental state that ‘settled’ was the term I used to define where we were now?

  “Wait, Austin. Mamma, it’s nearly ten and you’ve been here all day. Go get some sleep.”

  “I do not think you should be alone with this man, Petya.”

  “I’m twenty years old, mamma,” was all Peter said. I wasn’t sure why I was on the receiving end of her glare that time.

  “I see you early tomorrow.” She kissed him again, her lips lingering on his cheek and her eyes closing. A wave of guilt passed over me when her hand slipped into his and squeezed. The other hand shook slightly as she swept it over his forehead.

  “I can take you to your hotel, Mrs. Dyachenko,” I offered.

  She considered me with a hard look, then her wrinkles smoothed. “Thank you, but Petya wishes to speak with you. I will have a cab.” Gently taking her purse from the side table, she headed for the door, stopping next to me. Without turning, she said, “You may pick me up. Early. Do you understand early?”

  “Between noon and one?” I grinned.

  “He’s kidding, mamma,” Peter interrupted and sighed at me after she had left. “Do you have to antagonize her?”

  “I’m an ass. It’s what I do. Does she have to act like I’m going to toss you on your stomach and assrape you in front of her?” I sat to his side and dragged a finger over his hand.

  “Pretending you’re not thinking about it?”

  “You look like shit. Fucking you is not in the cards. I was thinking blow jobs.”

  “Can you sit on the other side?” He moved his hand away.

  “Why?”

  “You know why. Can you just do it?”

  “I don’t give a fuck about the colostomy bag, Peter. It’s temporary anyway.”

  “What if it’s not temporary?”

  “Then I guess the rest of my life will be resigned to doggy style sex.” The words were out of my mouth before I could think about them. “I mean however long…when we’re…that wasn’t a fucking proposal.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t smile like that. Smugness doesn’t become you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Scoot the fuck over. You’re hogging the bed.”

  “I can’t move myself. I’ll split my stitches.”

  After some maneuvering, I lay down next to him and used my arm as a pillow. The other hand was firmly attached to the remote control. I flipped to baseball. “Do you even like sports?”

  “Hockey.” He took the remote and replaced it with his hand. We watched most of the third inning before he spoke again. “Austin, about being exclusive.” My stomach tied itself into knots.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s not the end of the world if you want to change that.”

  “That what you want?” What the fuck?

  “You are just out. It’s too soon for you to be exclusive.”

  Because he sounded so tired, I held my anger in check. “Is that so?”

  He blew out roughly. “You’re angry. Again.”

  “You’re telling me how I feel. Again.”

  “Just think about it.”

  “Think about fucking anything that moves until I can decide if I want to be exclusive to someone? How many dicks do I have to suck to get to the center of my gayness?”

  “Or dating or just being with men like you. It doesn’t have to be reduced to fucking. But yeah, you’re going from gay to relationship in two weeks.” His heart monitor accelerated. I needed to control my anger and not perpetuate or escalate the argument.

  I squeezed his hand and scooted until on my side, facing him. “Listen to me, because this is about as serious as I get.” His nose twitched, nostrils flaring. I forgot what I was going to say when the epiphany hit. “Your Tourette’s,” I said, smiling in wonder.

  His face became icy still. “Fuck off.”

  I laughed and kissed his nose. “That’s why you give those glacial looks. You’re controlling your twitches.”

  “Not just twitches, Austin. You have this idealism that’s just not realistic when it comes to me. My nose twitches. My nostrils flare. I clear my throat twenty or thirty times an hour. I get facial ticks. Sometimes I bark. Still think it’s so cute?” The monitor ticked louder.

  I did think it was cute. To me, everything about Peter was cute. But my nose was broken and that was his go-to appendage when he was pissed off. I decided to ignore his question for now. “When I was sixteen my grandfather told me he’d cut me out of his will if I saw my faggot friend ever again. I think he and my dad knew what I hadn’t admitted to myself.” The burrow of Peter’s brows amused me. “I didn’t care. Not about the money. Not ever about the money.” I dragged my arm from under my head and smoothed out his brow with my thumb, willing him to relax. “It wasn’t until after Jesse died, when I was vulnerable, that he struck.

  “He was astute. A genius lawyer. He figured me out and how to get to me. ‘Just you remember, boy, fags live alone and die alone. And anyone associated with them. Do you want a family? Don’t you want a normal life? Or do you want to die alone? Hear me, boy?’”

  It hurt when Peter pulled back from my hand, turning his face to the ceiling. I guess I had my answer, but maybe I needed the nail driven in further to fully appreciate how much I was alienating him with my commitment issues. Which were less issues than needs. “He knew what I was, and he knew that I needed to be part of a family more than I needed to be myself.”

  “Austin—”

  “So I really don’t need to fuck a bunch of men to figure out who I am and what I want, Peter. I just need to fuck one.”

  “Okay.”

  I exhaled at Peter’s universal word for an excited yes. “Okay,” I said.

  “I come with a lot of baggage.”

  “And a colostomy bag.” He gaped at me. I lifted his sheet and looked at his stomach. “Seriously, that’s gross.”

  He reached up and flicked me on the nose. “Ow! Christ!” My eyes were watering, and my nose throbbing, but I was smiling as I leaned in and kissed him.

  “God, you’re an ass.” He laughed.

  I Might As Well Grow a Vagina with All This Sharing

  Nurses awakened us at four to check his abdomen for infection, and I decided to stay awake so I could pick up his mother at six. The nurse lifted his gown and prodded his stomach. The small bullet hole was patched, but the slash from sternum to below his belly button was panic inducing. I avoided looking at h
is wounds and used the time to catch him up on the case.

  “So all of those people are dead?” Peter asked.

  “The seven women and men who shared the safe house with the girl were killed, along with four more at the whorehouse, they think. None of the cops was part of that, so they say, and Leila isn’t talking anytime soon. They haven’t found the bodies yet.”

  “Joe?”

  “We think the stress of keeping the secret caused his heart failure. He had called Ron several times to intimate he had evidence but wasn’t sure what to do with it.”

  “He died protecting Iss.” He smiled a little, but it was melancholic. I hadn’t destroyed his cop-hero completely. He wasn’t the good man Peter had thought, but he wasn’t a monster. “Romantic in a bizarre way.”

  “Since when are you romantic?”

  “You’ve known me two weeks, Detective Glass. I know how to cook, I like beer, I want to stick my tongue in your ass, I secretly love that disgusting cat Cai brought home and I’m romantic. Still so sure about me?”

  “I’ll rethink the exclusive nature of our relationship if you bring home another cat. Or another brother. You can have all the beer you want. It’s not detective any longer. I’m unsure about the tongue in ass. I’m equally disgusted and intrigued.” Obviously, I wasn’t that disgusted. I was also hard.

  He took a deep breath. “They fired you?”

  “They were probably going to, but I quit.”

  “Aren’t you some kind of hero or something?”

  “Who announced he’s gay to the stationhouse, slept with a suspect, concealed evidence of his lover’s crime, housed a murderer and is best friends with a crook?”

  He relaxed into the pillow and yawned. It set off a chain event. I yawned. The nurse checking his vitals yawned. She also loitered a little too long during our conversation. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Devote a few months to learning about gay sex." I bit his nose gently and cradled his jaw in my hand. “After that? Maybe I’ll try private investigation.”

  “Cool. I can be your man Friday.” My brows popped up at the reference. He smiled and shook his head, then turned to the television. With a touch of his hand, the screen flickered on. “I like that I can surprise you.” Suddenly, he turned off the television and cocked his head. “How’d Cai get free?”

  “The FBI. They tracked him down. Rosa is a pretty important witness. Her son demanded full attention.”

  “Is Cai still in trouble?”

  I shook my head. “Angelica is fighting to get him released. They have to formally drop the charges. He’ll probably be free tomorrow.” I raised my brows at the nurse who was eyeing us sideways and pretending to write things down on the chart. Who was she trying to fool? Her pencil wasn’t even touching the paper.

  “What happens to Detective Buchanan now?” Peter asked, taking a deep breath and sinking into the pillows.

  “Dave? He made a deal. Three years federal prison for his testimony, and then he’s going to split to Sweden. His wife and kids are there now.” I took the remote and flipped the TV back on.

  “Austin?”

  “Hmm?"

  “Thanks.”

  “Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to watch the game.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Checking Out

  In the aftermath, the sprint into my relationship with Peter was marked by blips of volatility during the intervening quiet.

  Four days after Peter’s room change, we learned that Leila had succumbed to her head trauma. I didn’t mourn her loss; nor did I think about the fact that I had caused her death. I had more important things to do. I spent that evening fighting with Peter over the remote control.

  “I’m sick,” he protested when I flipped the channel to sports.

  “Anyone who doesn’t like baseball is sick.”

  “Were you always this boring?”

  “I’m boring because I don’t watch political shows? There are millions of people around the world who would disagree.”

  “What kind of man takes the remote from an invalid?”

  “The kind who is enlightening his man to the beauty of baseball.” I said it to shut him up. It worked, but it equally shut me up. I ended up missing the entire game because I was busy thinking about the implications of that statement. I didn’t even notice when Peter took the remote.

  The next night I brought in my laptop so he could watch his cable news channels and I couldn’t say stupid things like ‘my man’. Propping my feet on his bed, I watched the game. Neither of us, thankfully, brought up my slip of the tongue. And every once in a while, Peter’s finger would trail along the arch of my foot propped on the bed near his hip. I would shiver and shift in my seat. He would smile.

  The charges against Cai were dropped, with a signed witness statement from Frank Marco on how Leila—now conveniently dead—pulled the trigger on her husband. Who knew if that was the truth. Cai refused to talk about it. Not long after his release, Luis brought Cai to the hospital along with Rosafa; and we left Peter alone with them to catch up.

  “Looks like I owe you again,” Luis said as I filled the vending machine with quarters.

  “For what?” I knew he was talking about my having taken full blame for concealing Peter’s crime. At the same time, I had handed in my resignation.

  "Don’t play idiot.”

  “You tried to stop me.”

  “I didn’t stop you, is the point.”

  I smiled, handing him a cup of coffee and got a second cup for myself. We sat in the waiting room, side-by-side, studying the opposite wall.

  “I was quitting anyway. After all the mistakes, figured I might as well do something right on my way out.”

  “The captain didn’t buy that I was clueless.”

  “Internal Affairs did. That’s what matters.”

  “I.A. isn’t interested in what was pled down to a misdemeanor.”

  “We’re even, Luis. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “How you figure?”

  “You never trusted Peter. You always thought Cai was guilty. You held back because you trusted me.”

  He pointed his cup at me. “In that case, you’re right, you owe me.”

  “I’ll send you a gift next hump day.” My grin widened.

  “If I even see your face on a Wednesday from here on out, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “Luis, only Peter can shoot on my face.”

  “I’m outta here.” He hustled out of his chair with more grace than a man his size should have.

  I finished my coffee with a lighter heart, knowing my friendship with Luis wasn’t lost.

  On the way back to Peter’s room, I found Angelica gracefully parked in a plastic hospital chair. She pressed her lips together when we made eye contact, took a deep breath and relaxed her mouth into a smile.

  “I miss you,” she said with a shrug.

  Maybe one more friendship could be salvaged.

  Picking Up The Peace

  “I miss you, too,” I replied. I slid into the chair beside her. She laid her hand on my arm.

  A nurse passed by and smiled at us both. Me in my jeans and sneakers, Angelica in her favorite navy skirt suit. We were mismatched, but we looked like a couple. What would be the nurse’s reaction if Peter was next to me? If I held his hand? If I kissed him? It didn’t seem fair to wonder about things like that for the rest of my life.

  “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Once again, I didn’t have to ask what. “Me either. Especially now that I have so much free time to think.”

  “I have gay friends. One of the firm’s lawyers is gay, and we hang out.”

  “I know a lesbian,” I offered.

  “I’m not counting coup, Austin. I just don’t understand. I never had a question about homosexuality being something you’re born with. Unchangeable. But you’re twenty-six. I’m trying to get it through my head because of every man I know, you’re the least likel
y person to ever choose to be gay. But just suddenly…”

  I leaned my head back against the wall and shut my eyes. “I hope you’re not asking me to explain it. I’ve been gay for ten minutes. I don’t know how it works. Last night I asked Peter if I had to like the Village People and wear leather chaps.”

  Her musical laugh danced along the hall. Then she rested her cheek against my shoulder. “He’s nice, your,” she hesitated, “Peter?”

  “He’s snarky and vindictive, and romantic,” I shuddered, “and yeah, he’s nice.” Too nice for me. Much too good for me.

  “Romantic?”

  “I don’t think he expects flowers, but he doesn’t gag when I call him my boyfriend.”

  “That is probably too romantic for you.”

  “Luckily he makes up for it with a mouth that could suck a ping pong ball through a Twizzler.” Her upper lip drew up to reveal her teeth. “Too soon?”

  Her laughter shook my body as she hid her face in my shoulder. “I love you, Austin.”

  “Me, too.” I took her hand. “Me too, Angel.”

  “I have this crazy idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why don’t you wait until this one proposes to you?”

  Don’t Look At Me, I’m Not Even Here

  A fight about Cai staying with us was in full swing in Peter’s room. I sat in a corner chair and buried my nose in a celebrity magazine like it was ESPN porn.

  “He is my son, Petya. You cannot expect me to leave him behind forever.”

  “I’m sorry, Rosa, but it’s what’s best for Cai. It’s not fair, and I’m a terrible person for having taken him from you. But we’re all he knows.”

  “Rosa, if there were any other way.” Darryl said.

  “This is not right. He belongs with his mother.” Rosafa watched her son with tearful eyes.

  While they argued, I tried not to look up. When I did, I caught Cai staring at me while playing with the beaded black necklace around his neck.